She’s is indeed here. A carbon copy of her brother. The wrinkle in the hand that comes from 9 months immersion in water. The puffy pinkness of skin next to your own tender, weary flesh.

A look up and glimpse of a big brother charging through the ward, coming to assert dominance and query love.

But before he has chance, people are rushing, he’s picked up in a sea of people.
Frantic, everyone is frantic.
Alarms are going off, the girl is grappled from me by an unknown face.
‘There’s been a mistake, she is not for you’
‘She is mine, I’ve had her, SHE IS MINE!’
I’m pulled back by wires all of a sudden, as if I’m being attacked by electrical appliances.
‘Tell them she’s mine’ I beg ‘I need my girl’.
But instead I’m flung on the bed which is now being dragged backwards and it all fades to black.

Moments later I’m hovering, I’m watching myself.

A body, scarred by child birth, cancer, overindulgence.
It takes a minute and I realise. I need to wake up.

Wake up

WAKE UP

The rapid shallow breathing, summon dizziness. Those pool of sweat are real.